


water and waves

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [10]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Dreams, Gen, M/M, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trott’s dreams of the sea have always been unsteady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	water and waves

**Author's Note:**

> http://strifesxlutions.tumblr.com/post/142475179332  
> ocean crashing waves gif
> 
> I've been trying to get UMY things done lately, and it's been sort of rough going. here's something small, though.
> 
> cw: water/ocean/sea/dreams. if I need to tag something else, let me know.
> 
> reblog: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/04/18/water-and-waves-ghostofgatsby/

Trott’s dreams of the sea have always been unsteady.

 

There are nights he wakes up, curled into Smith’s warm arms, shaking silently. He lies to himself that he doesn’t know the reason, but he always does. It’s the same reason every time.

He shakes, and hates himself for it. He’s warm in Smith’s arms, but he’s never felt so cold as when he wakes up from dreams like these.

Waves crashing, crashing, crashing endlessly.

Smith makes quiet shushing noises. The kelpie is half conscious as he lays kisses down Trott’s neck. The closer to morning it is, the more the kisses are just a brush of lips, of stubbled cheek to skin.

Trott pretends to be asleep when this happens. They both know he’s faking, but Smith shushes him softly until his trembling stops. Smith settles back into the semi-comfort of their crappy mattress.  
The rain beats steady on the outer walls of the old apartment. Once Smith’s breathing patterns dip again, the sign he’s sleeping steadily, Trott opens his eyes. He stares up at the ceiling, and watches the faucet across the room drip.  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
Endlessly.

 

There are nights he wakes up at the crash of thunder, and opens his eyes immediately. Blinking up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes to the left and right. Smith on his right, sleeping soundly, and an empty spot on the left.  
Trott pulls himself out of bed, hating the fact that he can’t fall back asleep. Missing the warmth of Smith in the sheets as he goes to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

He finds Ross standing by the window. The gargoyle is watching the storm. Like Trott, they both sleep a little unsteady when it rains.  
Trott finds himself calmed by Ross' presence. He joins him with a cup of tea, and doesn’t shiver at the feeling of Ross’ glass tail winding around his calf.  
Lighting strikes in the distance. He tries to forget the way water looks during a storm. The way the waves churn and pull you under.  
Ross’ tail coils a little tighter. Not too tight- comforting.  
Trott drinks his tea.  


 

As time passed, the dreams came less and less. Once Sips joined them, they didn’t occur at all.  
During the night, Sips snored. During the morning, he and Trott shared coffee, and talked.

It was easy, with Sips. Strangely easy. It was both fascinating and peculiar to Trott that he and a human had so much in common, and could get along so well.

He didn’t mind it, though.

 

The waves were akin to breathing in saltwater. Painful, rough, and burning down his throat. But breathing in air is much different on land. The air in a city is vastly different than the sea.

Every breath you take in could be the smells of food or gasoline, or nothing at all. In the city, breathing meant you were surviving. Breathing the air was just a part of your life.

 

The sea had been a hardship. The waves used to mean home, in the painful way, in the way home meant "where you come from" more than who you love.

In the night, Trott’s court's breathing patterns are more of a home he ever thought he'd had before. And it’s a much better comfort than waves or silence.


End file.
